FRANKLY I think me and the sister get a raw deal. I mean to say, if it had been me, I wouldn’t have made such a skivvy out of myself. She could have left home anyway. The Fairy Godmother would have bailed her out anytime. All she ever had to do was whip up a storm and the Good Fairy would have arrived pronto. But no. She had to string it out. Snivel and moan and lick the ashes. Get the crowd real sorry for her. Ready to lambast us to any pole.
Did you ever wonder where you’d be without us to act out the shadow side? And all before Jung even got a whiff of it. I mean to say, if she’s not going to act downright mean then she’s going to attract it to her.
Right? But there she is on her knees in the scullery owning all her goodness.
Instead of learning fast, she acts stupid, eats as much ash as she can stomach, wallows in the stuff. Me and the sister had a terrible time getting her to the point of spiritual crisis. The girl’s capacity for insult and injury was awesome. Another day of it and I’d have wept with her in the ashes myself. But, thank God, she turned to a little creative visualisation and manifested herself a Godmother.
I was quite enjoying that ball until she turned up doe-eyed, dimple flashing, lid-lowering and whipped PC out from under my nose.
And then the dramatic exit! As if the universe isn’t bountiful! I mean do you really believe the fairy would have put a time on it? No, I reckon she got one of her self-doubt bouts. Lost confidence, lost face and don’t forget the shoe! Very convenient that.
As for that slipper fitting scene! Do you really think I wanted to squeeze my G size into that skimpy little excuse for a shoe that had done the rounds of the kingdom. And risk verruca, corns and God knows what? And then to watch her creep out of the cinders and slip her pygmy footsie into the golden slipper. And then, jack rabbit, out with the other one from beneath her pinnie. It’s all gush and pink flush forever and ever now. As if! She’ll make a doormat out of herself no matter what. There’ll be a few more shadows to play out. A few more spiritual crises to be had. She hasn’t learnt the lesson yet.
But as for me, I’ve done with them. Make me the fairest of them all next time and let herself do a little shadow acting.
PATSY LOOSENED his belt, tugging on the end until the buckle popped and hung rattling open. He undid the zipper in his slacks and stood, legs comfortably apart. Two hours was far too long to sleep for in the middle of the day. The toilet smelled sweet, he had just put some fresh green stuff in it that ran in a thick tidal wave down the porcelain before meeting the clear water. He bent his right arm and put a fist on his hip, sweeping back his coat with his elbow. Pursing his lips and frowning at the small sea-blue tiles on the wall, he wondered if Shay had finished clearing the garden yet. If it wasn’t snowing in the morning he might dig a few drills himself. Maybe, he’d wait and see. The uniformity of the tiles began to help him daydream. Through the bathroom window, miles away it seemed, he could hear Shay gathering up the spade and the fork with a prongy clang and the heavy damp thump of him stamping muck from his boots before he stood in the porch. The muffled sounds, the endless blue of the tiles, the cold, still, soap smelling quiet of the bathroom all contributed to his stupor.
His bladder relaxed and loosed warmly into the bowl below. He tilted his head back slowly and sighed.
Outside, Shay lit a cigarette and pulled on it suck-cheeked, slow and long.
The sun was dipping below the snow-pocked hill and a robin landed on the spade handle.
“Ha! I thought they only did that on Christmas cards!” Patsy shouted.
Shay stepped out of the porch and looked up at his old, grey, spike-stubbled face wedged sideways through the top part of the bathroom window, trying to get a view of the garden. He must have been standing on the toilet bowl.
Did you ever wonder where you’d be without us to act out the shadow side? And all before Jung even got a whiff of it. I mean to say, if she’s not going to act downright mean then she’s going to attract it to her.
Right? But there she is on her knees in the scullery owning all her goodness.
Instead of learning fast, she acts stupid, eats as much ash as she can stomach, wallows in the stuff. Me and the sister had a terrible time getting her to the point of spiritual crisis. The girl’s capacity for insult and injury was awesome. Another day of it and I’d have wept with her in the ashes myself. But, thank God, she turned to a little creative visualisation and manifested herself a Godmother.
I was quite enjoying that ball until she turned up doe-eyed, dimple flashing, lid-lowering and whipped PC out from under my nose.
And then the dramatic exit! As if the universe isn’t bountiful! I mean do you really believe the fairy would have put a time on it? No, I reckon she got one of her self-doubt bouts. Lost confidence, lost face and don’t forget the shoe! Very convenient that.
As for that slipper fitting scene! Do you really think I wanted to squeeze my G size into that skimpy little excuse for a shoe that had done the rounds of the kingdom. And risk verruca, corns and God knows what? And then to watch her creep out of the cinders and slip her pygmy footsie into the golden slipper. And then, jack rabbit, out with the other one from beneath her pinnie. It’s all gush and pink flush forever and ever now. As if! She’ll make a doormat out of herself no matter what. There’ll be a few more shadows to play out. A few more spiritual crises to be had. She hasn’t learnt the lesson yet.
But as for me, I’ve done with them. Make me the fairest of them all next time and let herself do a little shadow acting.
PATSY LOOSENED his belt, tugging on the end until the buckle popped and hung rattling open. He undid the zipper in his slacks and stood, legs comfortably apart. Two hours was far too long to sleep for in the middle of the day. The toilet smelled sweet, he had just put some fresh green stuff in it that ran in a thick tidal wave down the porcelain before meeting the clear water. He bent his right arm and put a fist on his hip, sweeping back his coat with his elbow. Pursing his lips and frowning at the small sea-blue tiles on the wall, he wondered if Shay had finished clearing the garden yet. If it wasn’t snowing in the morning he might dig a few drills himself. Maybe, he’d wait and see. The uniformity of the tiles began to help him daydream. Through the bathroom window, miles away it seemed, he could hear Shay gathering up the spade and the fork with a prongy clang and the heavy damp thump of him stamping muck from his boots before he stood in the porch. The muffled sounds, the endless blue of the tiles, the cold, still, soap smelling quiet of the bathroom all contributed to his stupor.
His bladder relaxed and loosed warmly into the bowl below. He tilted his head back slowly and sighed.
Outside, Shay lit a cigarette and pulled on it suck-cheeked, slow and long.
The sun was dipping below the snow-pocked hill and a robin landed on the spade handle.
“Ha! I thought they only did that on Christmas cards!” Patsy shouted.
Shay stepped out of the porch and looked up at his old, grey, spike-stubbled face wedged sideways through the top part of the bathroom window, trying to get a view of the garden. He must have been standing on the toilet bowl.